Kathy Tauber: Do memories really have to be 50 years old to count?

When Kathy Tauber was a kid, her father used to tell her than a memory had to be at least 50 years old to be worth remembering.

When he dredged up those beloved memories, however, his wife — Kathy’s mother –used to remember them differently. They’d argue, for example, about what she was wearing the day the met, as kids, in junior high.

“Oh no, you caught my eye in that blue shirtwaist with the flowers, Peter Pan collar and full skirt,” was his confident comeback.

“Joe,” she’d say, rolling her hazel eyes. End of discussion. She won. After all, a woman never forgets the outfit she is wearing when she meets the man of her dreams, no matter how long ago that was.

Kathy says she “has a few years over 50,” and the memories to match. But, she adds, she’s not a stickler for her father’s rule. She doesn’t believe an experience has to be 50 years old to be worth remembering.

“No, I have many vivid and sentimental moments, younger and older than 50 years,” Kathy says. “For instance, all my weddings, the births of my daughters, their lives, the arrivals of my grandsons, and the loss of my parents. But what I really love are memories that warm the soul.”

Just for example, Kathy says:

“I love the smell of slow and lazy cooking spaghetti sauce — garlic, onions, tomatoes, lots of oregano, basil and Parmesan — simmering on the stove for hours. It reminds me of gathering around the pot to ‘taste.’ Dad would hand us a piece of crusty bread with a gooey center, and we’d dip. There was a collective ‘hmmm’ when it reached perfection. While the macaroni (because we never called it pasta) cooked we’d hover over the sauce, putting dibs on the fat meatballs and daring each other to taste again.

“Mother’s pumpkin pie was intoxicating,” Kathy says. “The pie filling — made with cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, eggs, sweetened condensed milk and settled into a handmade, butter- filled, flaky crust framed by the oven window — was a work of art. No one ever waited the appropriate time for it to cool. Those first pieces warm and luscious were ‘ha’ moments in scrumptious eating.

“My first winter in Taos, NM was a sensory experience, too,” Kathy says. “Piñon crackling in kiva fireplaces filled the high desert air with an indescribable smokiness that tickled my nose. The smell of caldrons of green chili stew — robust with hot chiles and shredded pork waiting for the hand-tossed corn tortillas hot off the griddle dominated the oxygen and let us know. Winter had arrived. Even the snow at 8,000 feet has a fragrance: clean, damp, sharp. It reminded me it was time to tuck in. When the Houston cold front teased us, I cranked up the crock pots and loaded them with green chile stew and…Dad’s spaghetti sauce. The scent of the pumpkin pie had the neighbors knocking.”